Chapter 2

Enzo stared at the crimson stain blooming across his shirt, the metallic tang of blood sharp in the air. No one had ever made him bleed. Not his father with his iron fists, 

not his siblings in their vicious power plays, and certainly not the enemies who had tried and failed. But *she* had. This woman he’d been forced to marry in a mockery of a ceremony.

His jaw tightened until it ached. She was a walking death wish, and he was more than ready to grant it.

“Husband?” Her voice cut through the heavy silence like a blade wrapped in silk—light, almost playful. A smile curved her lips, bright and unhinged, nothing like the demure bride he had steeled himself for.

She looked like chaos barely contained in white lace. Eyes too sharp, posture too still, as if the calm were a mask stretched thin over something feral.

“Fuck you,” Enzo snarled, the words ripping from his throat raw and venomous. He turned on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a crack that echoed through the hallway.

Lokie watched him go, the smile never leaving her face. It lingered, wild and defiant, even as the sound of his footsteps faded. “And you too, *husband*,” she whispered, tasting the words like poison and honey.

Her gaze drifted across the room and landed on Dawn, huddled in the corner beside their father. The girl looked small, pale, forgotten—like a lost puppy shivering in the rain. Something inside Lokie cracked wide open. A fierce, protective ache surged through her chest, so strong it stole her breath. She wanted to run to her sister, wrap her arms around that trembling frame, and promise that everything would be okay.

But the words wouldn’t come. How could she promise safety when her own life had just been ripped from its moorings and thrown into the unknown? She didn’t know if this new path led to ruin or fire or something worse. Instead, she forced a soft, encouraging smile across her lips, pouring every ounce of love she had left into it. *Hold on, little one. Please hold on.*

Then her eyes met her father’s. His face was a blank mask—no regret, no sorrow, not even a flicker of humanity. Just a cold calculation. The hatred that had simmered inside her for years flared hot and bitter. She wished, just for a second, that he could be different. That he could look at her with something—*anything*—resembling care. The wish tasted like ash.

No more words passed between them.

Black-suited men closed in. Rough hands gripped the handles of her wheelchair, and the world began to move. Lokie sat rigid as the familiar walls of her old life slid past the windows and disappeared. The house, the garden, the only safety she had ever scraped together—all of it faded into memory. The road ahead stretched into a future that felt vast, cold, and terrifying.

A slow, dangerous thrill uncurled in her stomach. *Good.* She had always loved scary things. Being Lokie meant *being* the scary thing.

---

They pushed her into a room so white and vast it blurred at the edges, like stepping into a snowstorm. The wheels of her chair whispered against the marble floor. The door slammed shut with a heavy, final bang that vibrated through her bones. Silence swallowed everything.

They hadn’t untied her.

Lokie’s gaze swept the space, cataloging every sterile detail—the high ceilings, the minimalist furniture, the faint scent of expensive leather and cold metal—until her eyes locked on him. Enzo sat in the far corner, grey pants stretched over long legs, black sleeves rolled up, watching her like she was a bomb that might go off.

“Are you just going to sit there?” she asked, one eyebrow arching in challenge.

He didn’t move.

A low, rumbling sigh escaped her. She scanned the room again, noting exits, shadows, anything that might be useful. Her pulse thrummed with anticipation and fury.

Enzo rose slowly. Each step toward her was measured, deliberate. He stopped a careful foot away, as if she really might bite. For a moment, tension crackled between them—thick, electric, unspoken. Then he turned, walked to the heavy door of what must be his bedroom, and disappeared inside without a backward glance. The lock clicked into place with a soft, mocking finality.

“Fuck,” Lokie breathed, the word sharp with realization.

“Hey!” she shouted, voice rising. “Bastard, come back here! Hey—*fuck!*”

No answer. Only the muffled sound of him moving around behind the door.

She waited for the panic, for the tears, for the desperate begging that should have come. Instead, a wild laugh bubbled up from deep in her chest and spilled out, echoing off the pristine walls. The sound was raw—angry, exhilarated, alive. Her eyes sparkled with dark interest, the fire in her veins burning hotter than ever.

*This marriage isn’t going to be boring after all.*

She spent the night exactly where he’d left her—strapped to the wheelchair in the middle of the vast living room. The temperature dropped steadily. Cold seeped into her bones, turning her fingers numb and her breath visible in faint clouds. 

Every shift of her body sent fresh aches through her shoulders and wrists. Yet the discomfort only fed the storm inside her.

---

Morning light filtered in, pale and unforgiving. The door to Enzo’s room creaked open.

He stepped out freshly showered, hair still damp, dressed in a black suit that clung to his frame like it had been tailored by the devil himself. Power and control radiated from every line of his body.

“Well, look who finally crawled out of his shell,” Lokie taunted, her voice husky from the long, cold night. She flashed a sharp grin, aiming straight for the softest part of his pride.

Enzo didn’t even glance at her. He strode past, the scent of his cologne trailing behind him—dark, expensive, infuriating. His hand closed around the front door knob.

“The house is yours,” he said, voice low and rough, edged with warning. “Except for my room. Stay the hell away.”

Then he was gone.

Lokie scoffed, twisting against her bonds. “As if I can do anything from here, asshole.”

Moments later, the door opened again. One of the guards entered silently. He knelt and began unchaining her. The moment the restraints fell away, sweet relief flooded her limbs. She rolled her shoulders, savoring the return of blood and movement. A soft, sly smile tugged at her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost gentle.

The guard nodded once and turned to leave.

“Hey,” she called after him, voice sweet as poisoned sugar. “Discard this trash. And make sure I never see it again.”

As soon as he was gone, Lokie rose. She crossed the room with deliberate steps, eyes fixed on the forbidden door. Enzo’s warning rang in her ears, but it only made the fire burn brighter.

“You shouldn’t tell me what not to do,” she murmured to the empty room, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. “Because those are exactly the things I do best… and I do them with *passion*.”